Woke up relatively early after a good night of sleep, and headed down to the restaurant of the Scandic Hotel to see what breakfast was all about. It was absolutely packed with people, mostly Chinese and Russians based on the languages being spoken.

The buffet seemed to be closer to Russian than Norwegian, with caviar, beets, pickles, and lots of smoked fish that could have been at home in either country. Not exactly what I expected, but a delicious wake-up call that we were about to cross the most northern border in the world!

After breakfast, we still had a few hours for a walk. Since our bus to Murmansk wouldn’t depart until 14:00, we asked the hotel about the possibility of a 13:00 or 13:30 checkout, and without even looking the front desk agent rather shortly told us NO. Checkout is 12:00 sharp. I understand the reason, but it could have been delivered in a much friendlier manner…

Off on the walk, we walked by the ice rink, which was being cleared of around 10-12cm of snow overnight. I was majorly bummed out that we would miss the tournament later in the day.

Walking through the very snowy town, I started to get excited for our upcoming border crossing:

Looking north, towards the Barents Sea. Brrrr…. Temp fortunately wasn’t too bad at about -15, but the snow and wind made it a little less than optimal walking conditions.

The Kirkenes Kirke, or the church…

The Soviet Liberation Monument, in memory of the Soviets fighting to free the town from the Nazis:

Picturesque view back onto the city of Kirkenes…yes, this was noon…

We stopped in the one coffeeshop we found after our walk for a warm coffee and sweet, and you could really tell that China was the theme of the big town festival going on. My oreo brownie even had a little Chinese flag in it. Does anyone know what it says? Google translate seems to think “family?” My reputation must have preceded me to Kirkenes….

Back to the sign, but better view of the snow “mountain” in the daylight. Little kids sledding down the other side. You can see the snow falling a bit in this pic.

Back to the hotel to check out and wait for our bus, and we still had about 90 minutes to kill. Kirkenes is famous for its king crab, and there was a tank in the lobby for the restaurant. I can’t decide if this guy looked scary or delicious…

Very snowy exterior of the Scandic Kirkenes.

About 30 minutes before our bus’ departure, we walked outside, and the bus was already full and waiting – with just two seats left for us. Everyone else on the bus was Russian from Murmansk, so we were the last ones and headed off early.

The border was only about 20-25 minutes away, and soon enough we were there. Funny enough, I had entered the Schengen Area on my work passport, which caused quite a lot of confusion exiting Norway, as I imagine they don’t see a lot of official passports at this northernmost Schengen border. Only added a few minutes, and soon we were all stamped out and back into the bus to Russia.

I debated trying to get a few pictures of this northernmost border in the world, but there was really no opportunity, and soon we were at Russian immigration. Immigration itself wasn’t too bad, although the rather junior agent decided to call over the station chief to have a look at my visa and passport. The giant 96 page passport definitely stood out, and I imagine the colourful assortment of visas in it from all corners of the planet didn’t help either. After a very short chat in pretty basic Russian no problem, stamp stamp.

Given the slight bit of extra attention customs decided they wanted to open and go through my bags, which was no problem at all, and it was maybe 15 minutes start to finish and we were through the northernmost border!

Another 15 minutes, and we came to a rest stop for a bathroom break. I think there might have been food for sale too, but we skipped that in favour of a few photos. It was a little snowy…

Russian AND Soviet flags still flying this far north. Love the contrast of the deep blue sky:

Some sort of Soviet memorial. Even zooming in the text is blurry so hard to tell exactly what to.

Fortunately, the minibus (which only held about 12 of us) had no trouble driving 100+ kph the whole way, despite the rather heavy snow, and we all lived to make it to Murmansk after less than four hours on the road. Bus dropped us right at our hotel, where after a quick check-in we were off to find some food. After missing lunch we were pretty hungry, so set off through snowy Murmansk. Snow was still coming down very heavy:

Monument to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker of Mirliki:

Dinner was at Tundra Restaurant which looked delicious online, but surely this far north in the Arctic the menu would overpromise and under deliver, right?

We started with the salmon caviar and soft cheese on black rice crackers, which was outstanding. Why it’s served on a bunch of stones I don’t know, but…

Next up was the grilled meat platter with venison, marbled roast beef, pork neck, and some sort of arctic berry sauce…again…delicious.

For the main, I went with Kamchatka king crab baked with wasabi sauce. Once again…absolutely delicious and decadent.

Couldn’t resist desert, which was the house specialty of boiled condensed milk served in “wafer tubules.” Extremely sweet and caramelly, but again…delicious.

By this point we were absolutely loving everything about this restaurant, so when in russia…homemade lingonberry vodka.

On the way out after an amazing meal, one last chance to stop and admire the slightly unusual decor:

All that was left was a nice snowy walk back to the hotel, past the monument to the Hero City of Murmansk…complete with Lenin:

After an amazing first day in the Arctic I couldn’t wait to catch up on sleep a little bit, and spend the entire next day exploring this winter weirdness!

Airport in Sochi was relatively modern, no doubt a beneficiary of the recent Winter Olympics. Since it was already nearing sunset and we were exhausted from a long day of travel, we decided to go with the taxi desk in the arrivals area as opposed to negotiating with the taxi mafia to potentially save a couple dollars each. Nice quick ride with a polite driver who coincidentally enough had Abkhazia plates on his car.

10 minute ride to our hotel, the Radisson Blu Resort and Conference Centre, where check-in was a polite but disorganized affair. First they sent us to our rooms…which we realized when we got there we’d both been given the same room number. Back to the front desk, and apparently they had screwed up, and oh btw, we charged you the wrong amount. Your room requires you to pay this much more. Was somewhat odd that they expected the room to be paid upon check-in, but eventually everything was sorted, and the view of the Olympic venues from the room was fantastic:

With the sun having set, and the stories of stray dogs around the area (which we never actually saw) there was really no point in trying to see the Olympics sites in the evening, so we decided to head into Sochi for some dinner. See, the airport and the Olympics venues are in a suburb called Adler, which actually sits right on the Abkhazia border. We called an Uber, which was really quick and reliable in Sochi, and made the 30 minute drive to the Morye Mall located in Sochi.

What was the first thing you see at the main entrance to the mall? Yup, it’s like they knew I was coming…AND Sochi managed to get my name right. Bonus points for them!

We wandered around the mall a bit, walking off the jetlag, and the mall was majorly modern with lots of international stores – likely a beneficiary of the Olympics as well. We were getting a bit hungry, so stopped into a pelmeni restaurant for some dinner. Dozens of varieties of pelmeni on the menu, and I don’t remember what we ordered in the end but they were seriously delicious.

After a bite to eat, a little more walking around the mall and exploring, and we found another odd vending machine to pair with the caviar vending machine in Moscow. I mean, don’t you always go to the mall and realize “damn, I forgot my contact lenses, I better hit up the vending machine!”

There was also a huge grocery store in the mall, so explored that a bit as well. I find grocery stores fascinating places when abroad, and a good insight to how at least some segment of the local population lives. Nothing terribly unusual about this one, except for multiple aisles with nothing but alcohol.

Called an Uber which had no trouble locating us at the mall, and after a short ride we were back at the hotel where we promptly passed out for the night. Despite all the confusion over the room rate at the hotel, they did decide that breakfast was included, and it was a reasonable spread for Easter Sunday. The breakfast was seriously empty, but there was still a huge amount of choice at the buffet, both hot and cold options, plus some local sparkling wine. Not bad at all!

…and seriously, how can you resist taking a pic when the hotel has something like this set up?

It was a nice clear morning, and unfortunately sleep won out over an early morning walk around the Olympic sites. Most of them were well behind fences anyways, so it wasn’t like I was going to get an early morning tour of them. This view from my room would have to do:

We hadn’t put a whole lot of thought into getting to Abkhazia, but knew that there were essentially two options: take a taxi to the border, cross over, and then wait for a minibus to Sukhumi, or find a driver/taxi who was willing to make the full trip. Given it was Easter, and we didn’t know how much traffic there would be, we opted to skip the public transport option and arrange for a driver. My first thought was to hire our driver from the airport since he had Abkhaz plates, but he he no interest in making the trip.

Our second try was to see if they hotel could find us a driver. Yes, they could, but their driver wanted to leave at 6am to avoid traffic at the border, and wanted 9,000 rubles ($180) for the one-way trip. We definitely weren’t going to pay that much to get up early.

So, google to the rescue and I found kiwitaxi.com which seemed to be too good to be true. A global transfer booking company that could arrange transfers anywhere in the world? They only wanted about 5,500 rubles for the trip ($100) and only 20% in advance with the rest to the driver (I imagine the 20% is their commission) so I figured I would give it a go. Only took about 30 minutes, and I had confirmation that our driver was booked, and would pick us up at 11am as we requested.

Our driver Dima showed up right on time, and had a perfectly comfortable and modern SUV for the trip. He didn’t speak a word of English, but was extremely friendly and easy to communicate with. We set off right at 11am, and were at the border in just over 15 minutes. He made sure to tell us that if anyone at the border asks, we are “friends” since trying to explain a taxi might open him up to bribes. When we got close to the Russian side of the border he let us get out, and go walk through passport control. Exiting Russia was pretty straightforward, with just a couple simple questions “how long will you be in Abkhazia? When will you come back to Russia? Where do you live? Why do you speak Russian?” and we were through.

Dima was just getting the car cleared when we exited, and we were ready to head to the Abkhaz border post about 100 meters down the road. Here we just pulled up to the officers, said hi, showed them passports, and they waved us through without a single question. Way too easy! The whole border had taken about 30-40 minutes due to the passport control line on the Russian side, but overall really easy.

From here, it was about a two hour easy drive to Sukhumi, where we had little trouble finding our hotel. I asked Dima if he would be interested in picking us up in two days, but when we told him we needed to leave at 9am he wasn’t interested since it would mean leaving Sochi super early. No problem, we had two days to sort out transport or use kiwitaxi again, so figured we were set.

Woke up early to get on the road, and Yves and team already had breakfast ready in the courtyard. Baguettes, pastries, sliced mango, bisap juice and fried eggs. I’m normally not a huge fan of staying in smaller places because of the “forced community” aspect, but Jamm was a fantastic hotel. It was nice staying somewhere more local with hosts who knew the area and made you feel at home. I’d highly recommend it to anyone visiting St Louis!

Small problem when we checked out in that they didn’t take credit cards, but that was easily solved by walking down the street to the ATM and withdrawing some more CFA francs. Bill settled, and still no sign of either of the drivers who had offered to take us to the border. It was pretty clear that they wouldn’t be showing up, but no worries, Yves’ staff had the number of a local driver who was more than happy to take us to the border. He arrived maybe 10 minutes later, agreed to the same rate of 25,000 CFA to the border, and we were off. This car was much more comfortable than the ones the previous day, and the 60 or so minutes to the border flew by.

As we rolled into Rosso, the border town, the vibe of the place definitely changed. Rosso is a border town, on both the Senegal and Mauritania sides of the border which is defined by the maybe 100-200 metre wide Senegal River. It’s also known as Africa’s most difficult and corrupt border, and several people have posted it’s taken 3-4 hours to cross. We were fully prepared for the worst. As soon as we pulled into town, the taxi was swarmed with “helpers” offering to help us with things. Fortunately, I’d contacted my local office and they had helped me hire someone to meet us at the border. Problem was…he was late.

Eventually the Senegalese police became annoyed at us, and demanded we give them our passports…and they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Fortunately, the fixer showed up about five minutes later and we got the bags out of the taxi and headed into the Senegalese police/border post to complete formalities. Same procedure that I encountered back in January when crossing from Gambia into Senegal and then from Senegal into Guinea-Bissau. Write your name in the book, profession, etc, and stamp stamp stamp, you’re out of Senegal. Super easy.

There’s supposedly a ferry that occasionally runs across the river, but the timing wasn’t right, so the fixer took us down some side streets to a more remote landing where dozens of pirogue canoes were parked. He helped lift the bags up, and we were off:

In the pirogue, with Mauritania a short distance behind me:

Looking back towards Senegal:

After maybe a five minute ride we “docked” on the Mauritania side of the river, and I snapped a quick shot of another pirogue about to head to Senegal. The guy with his arm raised in back was screaming “no photos!”

We were on the beach now, so this officially made country #194 visited – only two to go!

This is where I expected things to get very interesting. Fortunately, our fixer knew the procedure. He found the chief immigration guy standing by the water, and we all walked back into an office together to “talk.” Fortunately, it was pretty straightforward. American passports are not eligible for visa on arrival in Mauritania, but I had a letter from my local office, signed by some members of officialdom, ordering them to make an exception and grant me a visa on arrival. Fortunately, they had no problem at all with this, and I had my visa in maybe 15 minutes – absolutely no problem at all. Plus, it was all digital stored in a computer and then the visa sticker was printed out. I was pretty impressed by how official everything was for a supposedly super corrupt land border.

Ian was up next. Unfortunately, the visa price had gone up since last we heard, and I believe it was something like 120 euros now. Unfortunately he didn’t have enough, so our fixer was like “don’t worry – I’ll take care of it” and produced enough euros to pay the border guy. No problem at all, and I sensed the less time we spent in the border office the better – since that was more time that could be spent attempting to extract bribes.

Once we both had visa stickers we head to head out of the office, around to the other side of the building where there was a window, and hand over the passports (now including visas) for stamping. No problem at all, and just like that…we were out of immigration. Or so we thought. There was still a very large gate to the immigration “compound” and some shady looking police types hanging about demanding we open our bags for inspection.

I made a little bit of a scene with them, showed them the visa and reminded them that if I was able to get a visa on arrival I know “very important people” in Nouakchott so trying to shake us down wasn’t in their best interest. They relented, and agreed to let us go after recording our details in their logbook.

Out of the gate, down another couple of alleys and sidestreets, and into this very shady looking courtyard:

Here we were “invited” into a shop, to “do some business.” First order of business, I had leftover CFA francs to get rid of, and no problem, they exchanged those at a very safe rate. Then, came the shakedown. Ian only had Dollars, and they had fronted him like 120 euros to pay his visa. They were willing to sell him euros for dollars, but at a terrible exchange rate that took like 15-20%. Fortunately he scrounged up like 60 euros so only got fleeced for about $15-20 in bad exchange, but still not great. Then, we were given the “bill” for crossing. Pirogue charges, border tax (which is legit), money to “make things easier” and finally “a small tip for me.” All in, they asked for 7,000 in local currency which was only like $20, so a very small charge for getting through the whole border in under an hour.

Bill settled, the fixer walked us over to the driver he had arranged for us, and we were off!

We were just a couple of miles out of town, when we hit the first police roadblock. I’d read there were several of these on the road to Nouakchott, and the easiest thing to do was have pre-printed “fiche” where are a copy of your passport and all your details – name, where you are coming from, going to, etc. That way, you can just hand them over and not have to wait for the police to copy all the details from your passport. We handed them over, and he waved us on – super quick.

As soon as we crossed the river, the landscape changed – we were clearly in the desert now:

The first 15-20 miles of road were pretty good, but after that it was much poorer the rest of the way to Nouakchott, with the desert overtaking the road in many places:

Wild camels roaming free:

Not too much else to say about the drive. Took maybe three hours max from the border to Nouakchott, and probably about 10 stops by the police to hand over the fiches – all in all pretty easy. When we got to the city we had the driver take us to an ATM to get local currency to pay him, and piece of cake. Definitely having everything pre-arranged made things go much smoother and it wasn’t at all as bad as I read from people online.

I understand that having a fixer for this border crossing is pretty essential if you want to get through in any reasonable amount of time and hiring one on the spot probably isn’t the best option since they have the upper hand then. Thanked our driver for his help, and he gave us his business card to give to anyone else who might want help making the trip. With that, it was late afternoon and time to explore Nouakchott!

After unwinding in the hotel for a bit and relaxing, we decided to head out and get some dinner. Ian had found a place recommended by a friend that promised to be really interesting. It claimed to be “kind of ” German food, and the online reviews called it a fascinating cultural mixing pot…so we had to go! Took a taxi towards where google maps said it was, and it turned out to be a little further walk than expected, but eventually we found Alt Munchen. It definitely had a bit of that beer garden feel, and even some semi-authentic sausages and sauerkraut:

…and flaming bananas for dessert!

Next morning we were up early for breakfast at the hotel before our driver picked us up. He was right on time, and we headed east on the road out of Lomé to the Togolese border. The border was a pretty lively place, but there was absolutely no hassle. Usually at west African borders like this there are dozens of touts trying to sell you pens, arrivals cards, whatever they think they can get a little money for. Here, it was super easy. Stamped out of Togo no questions asked, and then onto Benin.

We already had our Benin visas, and got a few questions about where we were going, how long we would stay there, etc. They spent a lot of time writing down all of our passport details in some big books, and eventually started asking more and more questions. The conversation turned to what seemed to be the “you’re missing something” direction, but then the customs officer asked about my tattoo. I had to first explain to him what an octopus was, and then why I had one. He didn’t seem to grasp it, until I made up a really wild story about being attacked by an octopus as a child, and then he let us go.

There’s a theory that when dealing with corruption there are three ways to approach it. First, you can give them “power” and you will always lose. Then, you can interact with them as an “official” or a job-related approach, but they could come up with some technicality that they think they can get you on. However, the third layer if you can get there is to have a one-on-one personal interaction with them, and then graft is almost impossible. Seems to have worked in this case when we had a long chat about the tattoo, and he soon sent us on our way. Our driver was already waiting for us on the other side, and we set off to the town of Grand Popo, Benin:

Up until this point the road was pretty good, and we were making good time:

But when we turned to the north, the road became dirt, with giant car-swallowing potholes to avoid:

Village woman selling bananas:

Eventually, after a long drive we arrived at the Royal Palaces of Abomey. These were built by the Fou people from about 1650 to the late 1800s, and each king would build a new palace when he took over. There was a tour just starting when we arrived (French only, of course), so we joined in with some local families. We were definitely the only tourists from abroad today. First stop was the palace of King Glele:

The courtyard, and entrance to the palace museum:

This was the structure where they buried the king, with animal sacrifices scattered around:

Photo of Ian in the courtyard:

Inside of the burial structure:

In total the tour was about two hours, and was a good introduction to how the kingdoms and tribes of the area had not only resisted colonialism, but had cooperated with colonialists to resist each other. In the end, of course, the colonialists won and everyone pretty much got screwed over.

On the way back, given the condition of the road, we decided to take the other route back to Togo. This involved heading west to the border, before shooting south to Lomé. We thought it was a good idea initially, and the terrain was quite lush and the road quite good:

However, after about ten miles, the road got much, much worse than that we had come in on:

Huge trucks stirring up dust on the heavily potholed road:

At this point, we came across a police truck having pulled over a truck searching for contraband. We never did find out what they were looking for, however, they got several of the big trucks off the road which were blocking traffic, so it sped up our journey at least slightly.

Then, we finally got to the border. In contrast to the southern border, this one was super quiet and deserted. Nobody in sight. Getting stamped out of Benin took much longer than it should…the official invited us into a small building, asked us to sit down, and took what was nearly an hour to fill out his log book and apply all the various stamps he decided he needed to to both the logbook and our passports. Then, it was time to walk a small bit before the Togo border.

At this point, we weren’t sure our visas were good for a second entry, so it was time to play it by ear. We were standing outside at the Togo border, goats and chickens walking around, and he started to write our details in the logbook. He seemed happy with the visas, and then…the question came again. What’s the story with the tattoo. It took a while, but eventually ended in the same way. No hassle at all, and we were allowed back into Togo. Our driver, however, did have to pay a small bribe of around 1,000 CFA to get the car across. Also, while we were waiting to have all our details recored, a few people walked through the border, just handed the border guy a little change, and he waved them through. Seems that if you’re local, you just pay a small sum, and cross. Kind of sad.

We got back relatively late, and were absolutely exhausted after a full day of driving on rural African roads, so decided to stay in at the hotel and eat. Solid meal in the hotel restaurant, and got a good long night of sleep to catch up.

The next morning, our driver picked us up again to take us to the Marché des Feticheurs – basically the voodoo market. I’d visited there before, but thought it was something quirky and local Ian should see. It had become a bit more touristy since my previous visit, and even had signs posted offering tours and English-speaking guides. Bonus. The guide took us around and showed us all the “ingredients” for the various things…starting with miscellaneous owls and birds:

…moving onto bats, starfish, and other assorted critters. The porcupine quills are for cutting a gash in the skin. Then, after the ingredients are ground up they are smashed into the bleeding skin to let them work their magic. Sounds hygienic, right?

More birds, all for various ailments:

Overview of the market stalls:

After the tour, we got taken to see the local witch doctor, who unfortunately wasn’t in today. But not to worry, his son was, and was happy to try and sell us all sorts of trinkets. Ian bough a talisman that was supposed to be for safe travel (they know their market) and soon we were back to the hotel to pack up and head to the airport. It was time to head on to Chad!

Of all the parts of this difficult trip, I’ll admit that this was the one I was most aprehensive about. There’s not much information online about making this trip by taxi, and given the fact both Congo and Angola have notorious levels of corruption and bureaucratic BS up the wazoo…oh and combine that with my minor princess status…it promised to be an adventure. We’d pieced together enough information online, but for starters, we weren’t even positive the land border would be open on a Sunday!

On paper, it didn’t look too bad:

See, Cabinda is a small enclave of Angola, surrounded by Congo on the north and Democratic Republic of Congo on the South/East, and then after about 20 miles of DRC in the south you come to Angola again:

For this reason, we wanted to visit. As if Angola wasn’t difficult enough, Cabinda has been an active war zone from time to time. In 1975 when the liberation movements in Angola signed the treaty with Portugal, they reaffirmed that Cabinda was a part of Angola, even though it wasn’t connected. This was preceded by the formation of MLEC and FLEC, guerrilla movements advocating the secession of Cabinda. They operated a guerrilla war until 2006 when they finally signed a peace treaty. That’s not to say things have been happily ever after. In 2010 the Togolese football team bus was en route from Pointe-Noire to Cabinda for the Africa’s Cup, and was attacked by a FLEC splinter group, killing three people. So, Cabinda’s kinda…edgy!

So an edgy place, little information, and corruption…what could go wrong?!

I was prepared for the roughly 100km trip to take 8+ hours, and fully expected everything that could go wrong to go wrong.

Taxi to the Congo border was slightly more than we expected at 15,000 CFA ($30) but he wouldn’t budge, given the fact he had to pay tolls along the way, and would likely return empty. We probably could have saved $10 by taxi shopping, but weren’t in the mood to waste time so off we went. We’d read online it was somewhere around 20 minutes to the border, but ended up taking closer to 35 with traffic. Our taxi dropped us off maybe 500m from the border, and we walked the rest of the way. We were harassed by touts and people offering help from the instant we got out of the taxi, but when we ignored them they gave up after maybe a minute. Really? That easy? On the Ghana-Togo border I never did manage to shake them. They must not see many western tourists here!

Asked a few people, and easily found the exit immigration shack for Congo. Piece of cake, one or two questions about why we were in Congo, why we were going to Angola, and that was it. Stamp, stamp, stamp, we were out of Congo. I confirmed where to go next from the immigration guy, and left the house and turned left. Someone started yelling after us…

Turns out he was the health dude, and wanted a look at our vaccination cards. Nothing unusual there, until he grabbed a stamp, and stamped in both of them…”Cholera – Waived” Um, excuse me? I’ve had that vaccination. But he was having none of it. He’d exempt us from having that vaccine (probably chosen because it’s obscure) but we’d have to pay a 3,000 CFA fine each for the stamp. It wasn’t the money, but the scam that set me off…and I went off on him…in that way that you know you’re gonna eventually have to convince him you’re alpha dog or you’re going to end up arrested. 50 or 100 countries ago, I would have been scared by his authority, and done whatever he asked. I was now enough of an Africa veteran to push things. I started chewing him out in French, and made up a great story…told him I worked for the WHO (World Health Organization) and if he was going to insist on this corruption I was going to call the Ministry of Health back in Brazzaville and confirm this. He could decide to give up his scam….or (assuming he believed me) potentially have to answer to his big boss AND a UN agency. To emphasize my threat…I pulled out my cell phone and started fake dialing….he paused….and we got an ALLEZ-Y! GO AWAY! …and it worked. Jason and Jordan 1 – Corruption 0

Then, it was time for the real test. Angola immigration. Waited in one line, whose only purpose seemed to be to verify we had a visa, and he sent us to a small booth in the middle of the road. This turned out to actually be the immigration officer….brief questions (since he didn’t speak english, and only a little french) about our plans in Angola. “Today – Cabinda. Tomorrow – Luanda. Next – Sao Tome.” He seemed to get what we were up to, was pleased with it, and stamped us in….wait, that’s IT?!

Right next to the booth Jordan changed the last of his CFA for Angolan Kwanza (most awesome currency name EVER btw) and that was it…we were done. Terribly anticlimactic….really?

We’d read a taxi to Cabinda city would cost $100 US, and no sooner were we out of the fenced in area than a nice Toyota SUV pulled up, let out 6 passengers, and asked “Ciudad?” Yes, we wanted to go to the city. I’d used google translate for basic portuguese, so I knew “how much” as well as “80” and “100.” So, I offered him $80. He shook his head…”no $100″ ok, fine…it was a nice air conditioned SUV instead of a taxi, so we figured we’d go for it. The ride could be up to two hours. So we set of….

10 minutes into the drive, was a police booth on the side of the road….he wanted to check our passports to make sure we’d entered legally and had visas. Yup, everything in order, we’re on the way. What, no bribe? Seriously?

The drive had some great views….notice the driver’s American flag air freshener:

After a wide, we drove by the large oil complex, fenced in of course, home to tons of foreign oil workers. Like Pointe-Noire, Cabinda exists for oil…part of why it’s so important to Angola. As we approached the city, nearly 100km later, we approached the Cup of Nations statium, the destination for the ill-fated Togolese football team that had been attacked a few years prior:

…and with that, we were in Cabinda. The taxi driver made a weak attempt to tell us the hotel we’d picked sucked, and that he knew a much better one. I’m sure you do, and I’m sure “much better” means my relative owns it and I get a kickback. We declined, and he took us where we wanted to go. Just like that…piece of cake. It was surprising just how perfectly everything had gone, and I was still sure disaster was looming around the corner to pounce on us!